The legend of Story.

Legend has it, there once lived a man with beautiful golden skin. He lived alone in a cottage at the heart of a great, fir forest.

Each year when winter set in, a market was held in the nearest town. It was a market of many treasures and grandeur; from the world’s finest foods to the most beautiful hand carved furniture. In fact the market had such a spectacular reputation that even Kings and Queens had been known not to miss it.

 The golden man travelled on horse back through the forest and across fields until he eventually reached the market. It was busy with a bustle of people each hurrying to claim what the stalls had to offer before the best had been taken. However crowded the market became it never ceased to have the warm and merry atmosphere that it was renowned for.

 After hours of searching when the Golden man had visited every stall, only one had pleasured his eyes and to that stall he returned.  The stall keeper was an old wrinkled gypsy lady bent double with age.

“Can I interest you in anything golden man?” she croaked

“I noticed the egg” He said, “I have never seen anything like it! Tell me what it is?”

The egg was about the size of a goose egg and it appeared to have a faint yet extraordinary rainbow pattern.

“This is the egg of legends Sir” She wheezed “It was found at the peak of the Atlas mountains in north Africa and is said to be a gift from the gods to the people of the earth. No one knows exactly what should hatch from the egg however it is said to have Godly abilities and be, by no means evil.”

This tale fascinated the golden man whether it was true or not and he was certainly not prepared to let an opportunity such as this pass him by.

“How much?”  He asked

“100 guineas” she squawked back in reply.  

The gold man considered the offer but in is heart he already knew the answer.

“I’ll take it” He said

“Good choice sir, be sure to keep it warm by the fireside and come the next full moon you must submerge it in water and it is then that the egg will hatch.”

“Thank you” he said as they exchanged the egg with the money. From his bag he produced a sheepskin pouch into which he slipped the egg.

“And one more thing, Golden man, when the egg does hatch you must drink it’s liquid” 

 For many nights the golden man waited as the moon grew and grew. He watched the egg and with each night the colors became stronger in the glowing warmth of the fire.

 On the night of the full moon he placed the egg in a silver bowl full of water ready for it to hatch, just as the gypsy lady had explained. He waited, and before long the egg began to pulsate casting ripples across the waters surface. Finally the egg began to break but it did not crack, in fact the shell seemed to melt into liquid form itself and the egg’s rainbow colors merged into the water causing the most beautiful spiral patterns to appear. To the surface a tiny human-like baby covered in blood and slime emerged. The child made no sound and at first the golden man was repulsed, but then he remembered what the gypsy lady had said about drinking the water.  He took out the baby and wrapped it in furs and skins, then, he brought the silver bowl up in both hands and drank its rainbow contents. Having done so he looked again at the tiny silent baby boy and scooped him up into his cupped hands and said “I will treasure you as my own and help you grow into the finest man.”

The boy shivered.

“I will call you story.” Said the golden man before taking him back into the cottage and to the fireside.

 Many happy years passed, and the golden man stayed true to his word and taught Story every skill he knew, just as he would a son. With age Story developed a godlike beauty, and just as the gypsy lady foretold, he had an extraordinary gift. He had the ability to create the most incredible tales like no other person had done so before. In telling these tales he became a legend across lands and over seas. People came from far and wide to witness the magical taleteller. Even people of royal blood had knocked at the door.

 On the night of Story’s eighteenth birthday the golden man became fatally sick of flu. But he had one dying wish: “Travel the world, my son, and share your gift with others, teach them how to tell tales as you do”

 The next day, broken hearted, Story packed a bag full of bread, cheese he had made from the goat and clothes then he went out to the stables to collect his horse. When he emerged from the stable an old wrinkled lady stood before him, bent double with age. Behind her was a small wagon painted in greens and reds and to it a large dappled horse was attached by rope. She stared at him with wide grey eyes.

 “Who are you?” Story asked.

“You truly are a creature of legend,” she croaked just like a fat old toad. “Come with me and I will explain everything” 

She turned and headed for the wagon. Story hesitated.

“Come now child I won’t bite, and tether the horse next to mine, I will take you to the sea where you can board a boat that will sale to far away lands.”

Story saw honesty behind the old gypsy’s eyes and tied up the horse before joining her on the wagon.

 “I knew your father of golden skin,” said the woman “He gave me this letter to pass onto you when he should die” She handed him an envelope yellowed from age and sealed shut with wax. He opened it and inside was a letter written by his father’s hand. “You’ll have many questions, each will be answered in the letter, of this I am sure” Story read the letter over, it explained his life, why he was different, how he came from an egg and not a womb and why he had this extraordinary gift. Time passed quickly as he read. 

“We are here”. Said the gypsy lady as the wagon came to a stop. “I must tell one more thing: there is only one true way to teach your gift Story, you must donate your blood to the people, one drop on the tongue is enough.” She handed him a tiny but intricately carved silver needle “this is to prick your finger with, don’t worry it will not hurt, this is what you were born to do, now hurry to the boat, and take your horse.”

 And since that day Story travelled across the world sharing his tales and his blood. His blood was not red as every humans, in fact it had each color of the rainbow just as the egg he had hatched from. As the old Gypsy woman had foretold it was the people who, on taking one drop of the rainbow liquid that truly came to share Story’s gift. It is said that the descendants of these people, are the creators of wondrous tales and adventures that live today.

Still the legend of Story has never died as the tales that he shared have adopted a new name: Stories.

 This is the Legend of Story and how storytelling came to be.